


Strangers

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Episode Related, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-02-10
Updated: 2000-02-10
Packaged: 2018-11-11 00:36:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11137752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived atDue South Archive. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDue South Archive collection profile.





	Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).
    
    
    Alliance owns these characters.
     
    Comments:
    
    This story is for Marie-Andree, Mary Ann, Katapult and Eugenie.  I wrote
    this because I can't express my gratitude in a few words. A 'simple'
    thanks is not enough. 
    
    This story is also for John and Heather, my voices of reason.  Thank
    you for being there. Not just this time, but every time. Miss you guys.
    
    Strangers
    by
    Rae
    ************
    It is always there. He screws his eyes shut and grits his teeth.  He
    falls back against the pillow, twisting beneath the sheets. There's no
    peace for him, even in sleep. It's always there. Every sound is amplified,
    deafening. His head throbs. Alcohol doesn't steal away those miseries
    anymore.  Every painful memory comes back ten-fold, dropping anchors
    into his exhausted mind. Everyone has gone away.  His mother, his father,
    Stella.  He accepted this goddamn assignment because his own life was
    nothing. Living a lie, living someone else's life was supposed to make
    this easier....at least for a time. But this life... His new partner.
    The Mountie. Supercop. The guy with the classic good looks and all the
    talent. He couldn't compete. Couldn't even dislike the guy, because the
    Mountie was so damn oblivious. He's--Christ, what's the word---noble.
    Right, noble. Ray sees the world through black eyes, sees everything
    as this way or that. There's no rhyme or reason or justice. The weak,
    the gentle, the pure don't survive in this world. He's lived on that
    belief, shaped his life against it. It made him strong, or so he thought.
    Then he takes this assignment and meets Benton Fraser of the RCMP. Gentle,
    pure, humane and compassionate. Fraser sees good in everyone. Sitting
    across from him at dinner tonight, unable to tear himself away from those
    glacier blue eyes. He listened silently to those long drawn out stories
    of the Northwest Areas. The Mountie's childhood sounded so...lonely.
    And yet, here he was, in a place he was too good for, trying to help
    people who would gladly put a bullet in him as soon as he turned his
    back.  It hurt so much to be near him. Fraser was a good person, the
    kind of person who Ray wanted to be, but couldn't. Being so close to
    someone like the that painfully outlined the detective's own flaws. Ray
    had forced a smile and laughed with Fraser. It was so easy to maintain
    this mask, hide the pain from everyone. He had mastered that technique
    fully as his marriage to Stella had fallen to pieces and now he could
    convince everyone that nothing was wrong. Everyone, except himself. 
    Ray groans softly, his head jerking violently from side to side. No sleep
    tonight. Perhaps four hours total this week. No peace. His eyes flutter
    and open. He stares at the ceiling a moment, before rolling over and
    reaching out for  the Cuevero bottle that has taken up permanent residence
    on his bedside table.  He can't shake the feeling of worthlessness anymore.
    Nothing makes it go away.  Sweat mixes with tears as he drinks. How the
    hell is he supposed to face this Mountie? The guy's probably sick to
    death of him already. He'll deal with Ray to protect his real partner's
    cover, but..... How long before the Mountie walks away too? Oh, God,
    what can he expect? Everyone walks away from him eventually. Dull blue
    eyes move over the black gun with the matte finish that protudes off
    the edge of table. Wouldn't that be one hell of a way to protect Vecchio's
    cover? End his pain, stop these goddamn dreams once and for all.  He
    screws his eyes shut again and whimpers softly. All he wants is a place
    to hide. 
    
    
     He rolls out of bed now, still clinging to the bottle and picks up the
    gun from the nightstand. Not here. He toddles unsteadily into the living
    room. The couch. Mmm, yeah, comfortable old couch. He puts the bottle
    down, bending down close, because his vision is alittle blurred. He straightens
    and sees red. Gun comes up in a flash, cop instinct fighting through
    the alcoholic haze. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision. The
    figure in red tilts his head ever so slight. "Aw, jeez,", he groans softly,
    tension draining from his body, "what the hell are ya doing in here?"
    He doesn't think to ask 'how'. Doesn't really care. Fraser looks at him
    steadily. "I know we don't know each other well, Ray, but I got the impression
    at dinner tonight that you....." The Mountie pauses thoughtfully. "..were
    not saying all you wanted." A  thin, sardonic smile tugs at the corners
    of the detective's lips. "Yer not making any fucking sense, Red." The
    Mountie shifts uncomfortably. "Well, I got the sense that perhaps you
    were unhappy about something." Ray snorts softly and collapses onto the
    couch. He places the gun on his knee, finger still resting on the trigger.
    "Oh, so, now yer psychic, huh? Guess we can add that to yer list of superpowers,
    eh?" Fraser sighs wearily. "You've been drinking.", he says, tone distinctly
    disapproving. 
    "What tipped ya off?", the blond asks. Fraser's eyes are not on Ray's
    face and Ray follows the Mountie's gaze to the gun. He raises it slowly,
    waving it. "Ya afraid of this, eh? Afraid of what I'm going to do with
    it?" He picks up the Cuevero bottle and drinks deeply from it. "Don't
    worry, "he mumbles as he replaces the bottle. "I won't shoot ya, Red."
    The Mountie shakes his head. "It isn't me I am concerned about."
    "Oh. It's me? You've known me for what? Not even a full day. I'm not
    yer responsibilty. Walk on, Fraser." Ben's eyes narrow.  "You stepped
    in front of a bullet for me today. You risked your life to save mine,
    but you had known me only for a few hours." Ray stares at him blankly.
    "You deserve to live.", he whispers softly. Ben tilts his head ever so
    slightly. "And you don't?" The detective looks down at the gun on his
    knee. His fingers idly stroke the cold metal. "No." He bites into his
    lower lip to fight back tears. No way is the Mountie gonna see him cry.
    One shred of dignity left, and he's determined to keep it. "I don't think
    you believe that."
    "What the hell do you know about what I believe?"
    "You're in pain. You believe this is your only way out."
    "It is."
    "You're wrong. Right now you're drunk. In the morning, this will seem
    like a very bad idea,but it will be a mistake you can't correct." The
    detective scoffs. "Lemme ask you somethin', Red. Do ya care about Vecchio?"
    There is a moment of silence from Benton Fraser. "Yes, I do.", he replies.
    The detective forces a smile, determined to keep his emotions in check.
    "Well, isn't this the perfect cover? Hmm?", he asks.  Fraser's jaw tightens.
    "You're not doing this for Ray Vecchio. Don't use him as an excuse."
    Ray's head falls back against the couch. The Mountie has raised his voice.
    It's ever so subtle. In any other situation he may not have even noticed
    it. But he hears it now. "Oooh. Yer getting angry. How interesting.",
    he mutters. His lips close again on the bottle, liquid fire burning his
    throat. He canhear  himself swallowing, hear the the liquior splashing
    against the sides of the bottle. Through that haze there is a voice.
    "Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray" He chooses to ignore it, tries to shut
    it out. The problem is that it refuses to go. "Ray. Ray. Ray." Persistant.
    "Ray. Ray. Ray." He can't take it anymore. "WHAT?!", he snaps, leaping
    to his feet. Too quick. He sways, struggling to settle the room which
    is now dancing before him. Ray closes his eyes, takes a breath. Can't
    loose it now. Can't loose it now. "Put down the bottle and look at me.",
    he hears. The detective shakes his head. "Put down the bottle and look
    at me.",the Mountie repeats. Opening his bloodshot eyes, he holds the
    bottle out over the table. "Put down the bottle, Fraser?", he asks. The
    Canadian nods.
    "Yes." That thin smile comes to Ray's lips again and he lets the bottle
    drop. It strikes the table and shatters, sending tiny pieces of glass
    onto the floor. Fraser's eyes never move from Ray's. "Better?", the detective
    asks defiantly.
    "Yes. It is.", the Canadian replies. Ray scrowls. Damn annoying, this
    one.  Persistant bastard.  Not wanting to face this man any longer, he
    lowers his gaze, staring at drops of liquior that dot the coffee table.
    Like dew on the grass in the mornings. Beautiful.  "Look at me.", Fraser
    says. Ray is far too fascinated by the reflection of the broken glass
    in those droplets. "*Look* at me.", the Mountie says again. The detective
    blinks, but looks up again. The Mountie's expression is one of determination.
    He will not give up. "Ray, I know very little about you, not even your
    real name. But from what little time I've spent with you, I know you
    are a good person. Now, for better or worse you are my partner --" "Vecchio--"
    "Ray Vecchio isn't here, you are. I can walk on, as you have asked. I
    could let you do to yourself what you think you want to do, but I can't."
    He takes a step toward Ray. "Will you please give me the gun?" The blond
    looks at the outstretched hand, studying quietly the lines and callouses
    in the flesh. Hmm, the guy has big hands. "Ray....?" He looks up again.
    What is that in the Mountie's eyes. Is that fear? Nah. Nothing scares
    Red. Still holding the gun at his side, he moves slowly away from the
    table and couch. Away from Fraser. "Ray, please." Please? Ray wants to
    laugh. The situation is almost comical. He never saw this scenerio in
    the Academy. Never, in all the times he'd comtemplated suicide, did he
    ever think that the one time he was truly serious about it he would have
    a Mountie trying to talk him down. In his own living room, no less. Yeah,
    this was funny. He rubs his hand over his face. So drunk. So tired. Hmmm,
    this is funny.  Well.....he brings the gun to his temple.  Ray could
    not put together what happened next. He remembers pulling back the trigger,
    but there is no gunshot. Suddenly he is lying on the floor. The gun is
    no longer in his hand. He opens his eyes and see Fraser. Canadian's on
    the floor too, watching him with concern. "Ray?" Kowalski sighs and sits
    up, scooting back against the wall. "Tackled me, did ya?", he asks quietly.
    His eyes search the area around them, but he doesn't see the gun. "I
    couldn't let you do that to yourself, Ray.", Fraser replies. Ray nods
    and closes his eyes, head falling back. "I understand.", he mutters,
    "So, I freak ya out enough? Ya gonna walk away now?" "I'm not going to
    walk away, Ray. I'm not going to give up on you." The detective is close
    to sleep, he hears the voice as if it is part of a dream. It's a gentle
    voice, not like the others. Maybe, he thinks, maybe he can trust this
    one. "It's unlikely that you will remember any of this tomorrow.", Fraser
    continues. "I won't remind you." "Yer a pal.", Ray mumbles softly.  A
    large hand combs gently through his spikes. "Sleep now, Ray. Everything
    will look better in the morning." 
    
    End.
    
    


End file.
